


Harvest

by thedurianprince



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, extended gratifying times at raduga, neither explicitly platonic or romantic, small dash of big brother percival, world's best oneesan has ur back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23123584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedurianprince/pseuds/thedurianprince
Summary: Percival hadn’t realized it, but the rift that had developed between him and Lancelot in wake of Josef’s murder was one of the better things to happen to their relationship.
Relationships: Lancelot/Percival (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

Percival hadn’t realized it, but the rift that had developed between him and Lancelot in wake of Josef’s murder was one of the better things to happen to their relationship.

He bore no spite for Lancelot himself, naturally. He had the same vision as Percival, after all, in that they both wanted to curate societies that left no-one behind. Their paths were just different. And while coming to terms with that had felt as violent as Siegfried’s supposed betrayal at times, he ultimately concluded that was only healthy for their rivalry. What better way to call one another forward than to respect their differences and advise one another with them? And Percival only felt his conclusion reinforced as time went on, especially when Lancelot began his larger strides to re-shape the order and the stark difference in their upbringings became clearer.

_“A knight’s only objective is to serve his country. Once he swears this oath, he need only follow the path before him.”_

Before joining the Grandcypher, those words almost made Percival feel sick, a sense of dread and betrayal he was scared to comprehend gnawing at him. Now they were just somewhat uncomfortable, though in all the same ways. But it still troubled Percival deeply. Such a thing should be buried, at this point, especially as Lancelot (and, Percival did silently admit, Vane) truly reformed the order and led it towards a new future he was proud of. And he was sure Siegfried and even Josef, whatever parts of him remained in this world, were, too, and so should whatever crewmates aboard the Grandcypher were generous enough to give Feendrache’s problems their time and thought.

Everything about Josef’s death and the nightmarish fallout should firmly be the past, Percival thought. Most of it was -- his relationship with Siegfried was well beyond repaired, he had accepted Josef’s death, what was rotten in the court was being repaired. But thinking of his last exchange with Lancelot still made his gut wrench. He tried to leave it behind, especially as they spent more time together, their visions and responsibilities developed, and their worlds became much bigger. But as much as he’d run away from it, some part of him had lingered on it enough to be sure that if Lancelot hadn’t said what he had, Percival would have never left Feendrache.

*************************************

It was a rare day they were both on the Grandcypher, were both unneeded for missions, and both had some spare time to spar when Lancelot brought up he’d felt similarly. Or noticed things had changed between them, anyways.

“It’s different from back then, you know,” he remarked, using a parry that leveraged his twin blades to gain the upper hand.

“Why,” Percival said as he drew back and readied his longsword, not helping the grin on his face. “Is it so difficult to parry the likes of this with your little fangs?”

Lancelot laughed as merrily as ever. “Are you scared of getting bit?”

Percival let out an amused ‘hmph.’ For as much of a terror he could be when he wanted, Lancelot was still terrible at goading him in combat. It was that cheerfulness and absolute earnest transparency. It served and suited him well as a captain, but certainly it took the sting off of a taunt.

“See for yourself.” He came at Lancelot low, predicting Lancelot would leverage his better speed and acrobatics to respond. He did, and Percival threw his attack instead into a sort of uppercut, but Lancelot had little problem twisting himself to ride the momentum to trivialize the blow. But it gave Percival enough ground to cast a buff, and with it, the confidence he could weather anything Lancelot could throw at him. He thrust at him with excited vigor, but once again Lancelot parried, and they were at the same stalemate as before.

They locked eyes, waiting for any tick to give away their next move.

“Let’s call it a draw until we get a meal in us,” Lancelot said, not giving an inch.

“......humph. Very well.” Percival gestured slightly for Lancelot to break stance first, which he did a bit too easily for Percival’s tastes. “But you still have to elaborate on what you started earlier.”

“Hm?”

“Why it’s different now than when we were in the Order together.”

“Ah, ahahaha, that. I have to admit, that something I felt more than knew. Could you give me a little bit to find the words?”

“Mm. Of course. I’ll meet you in Raduga at half-past, then,” Percival said as he turned on his heel and left. “Be on time.”

***********************************************

It was forty-five past already.

“My, what a scowl,” Ladiva said with a pleasant chuckle as she placed a new drink in front of Percival. His frown lifted for half a second before it settled back in.

Percival looked from her to the drink before sipping at it darkly. It was bright and zippy, but in a mature way, backed by savory herbs and gentle bitter notes. His expression lightened more permanently as he murmured in pleasant surprise.

“...That’s delicious.”

“Hoho! Wonderful. I think this is the first you’ve tried of this specially-made Raduga shrub. It’s packed full of love!” she laughed, turning to the bar to fill other glasses.

“Naturally,” Percival replied, smiling a bit. “But it’s clearly also been curated by a sophisticated palate and skilled hand.” Ladiva turned back to give him a very charming expression in reply. A shame she had turned down his offer to become a vassal. She would be splendid in any kingdom she chose to be a part of, but at this point it did feel odd imagining her unattached to Grandcypher.

Percival drank a little more deeply. There was also something stiff in it, too. He wouldn’t make a habit of drinking much more than wine by himself (and that, of course, was more for taste than anything), but Lancelot failing to show up was weighing more heavily than he’d have expected.

Jamil dutifully let Ladiva load up his tray with the drinks and snacks Eugen and Yngwie had ordered. Percival watched carefully, mostly for lack of anything else to do. They cheered, clinked their tankards, wolfed down food, and reminisced on “old times.” From the sound of it, they were from when Percival had to have been a baby but also last week.

They were fifty-something, right? Almost twice his and Lancelot’s age. A bit less than twice Siegfried’s, a little more than twice Vane’s, and more than thrice the captain’s. Had he ever thought about his future like that? The only visions he’d had concerned his kingdom. Whom he’d like to appoint to council. Institutions he’d build. How he’d establish healthy international relationships. At most, wild fantasies of being able to take in any refugee from anything the sky faced, if not being able to outright prevent the sorts of things that created the disenfranchised to begin with.

It struck Percival just how little imagination he’d given to the people he’d be getting dinner with on a night off thirty years from now. He finished his drink as a clock struck the hour, not a sign of Lancelot anywhere.

***************************

When the clock was at half-past again, Ladiva put a plate full of the same drinking snacks the veterans had ordered in front of Percival.

“He’s so disorganized in all his personal matters. Can he really not even make it to dinner on time if he doesn’t have Vane thinking for him? Astrals above.”

“It sounds like you’re upset about more than just dinner,” Ladiva offered. “Talk to me.”

Percival looked at her a little blearily. He’d downed more of Raduga’s drinks than he should’ve.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he muttered. “Shouldering everyone’s problems. Never asking for anything for yourself. You’re like Siegfried. And the captain.”

Ladiva clapped her hands, tossed her head back, and laughed with such joy that Percival was startled for a moment. “Now _that_ is a lovely compliment from you, Percival!”

“What are you talking about? Am I wrong?” He felt himself flush. Curse how he blushed with his entire face, from his forehead to his ears.

“No, no. Of course not. But it sounds to me like you’re observing that,” she offered, with her voice lowered, soothing, and calm, “with the footnote that you think you don’t do it enough yourself. Is that what’s bothering you?”

“What’s bothering me is that Lancelot can’t even show up to a friendly dinner and discuss things like adults!” Percival spat. “How he feels after all these years! About how things have changed after Siegfried got framed for murdering our king and we just--” At this point, Percival was aware his mouth was working faster than his brain, and whether it was thanks to the frustration, Ladiva, or the alcohol, he didn’t care. “-- abandoned one another in...what was arguably our greatest time of need? I - he - neither of us thought of how the other felt in wake of all that, did we? We weathered that disaster, and I just left after he snapped my ideals in two. It’s been years and we didn’t even talk about it once, between --” Percival buried his face in his hands as it occurred to him that this probably made very little sense to Ladiva. She had no stake in nor reason to know Wales’ and Feendrache’s affairs, much less how much he and his fellow knights had been through together. (Which, in Percival’s mind, really should’ve trivialized this thorn that wouldn’t leave his side.)

He tried to gesture his way into somehow bridging that gap, and in frustration gave up and tore into one of the snacks in front of him. Shredded beef tongue and mild peppers, charred as perfectly as he’d expect from Raduga.

Ladiva gave his small tirade a comfortable amount of space before offering her perspective.

“It sounds to me you were ready to have an important conversation,” she said sagely. “And a very difficult, long-awaited one.”

“I shouldn’t have failed to bring it up sooner,” Percival said with a sharp sigh.

“Ah, but,” Ladiva offered, her voice as warm as always. “You know, these conversations can be like fruit. It needed time to ripen.”

Percival chewed as he listened, comforted and quietly very awed by how Ladiva’s homey flavors set him at just enough ease to begin unravelling this knot.

“I didn’t realize until now I was even harvesting it.”

“You might’ve just needed a little stepstool to reach it,” Ladiva offered with a wink, waggling the bottle of shrub.

“...Hmph.” Percival’s mouth curved into a wry smile. “What an unorthodox talent for wriggling free the truth you have.”

Ladiva chuckled before taking a seat on the stool she kept behind the bar. Percival glanced around, embarrassedly realizing he was the only person left in Raduga.

“Don’t worry about that,” Ladiva said with a wave of her hand. “Let’s pick that fruit.”

Percival hesitated for a moment. But who better to assist him than someone this wise, willing, and untouched by Isabella’s rotten scheming?

“Whether or not it’s ripe for him or if there’s even fruit to begin with is a mystery to me,” he started.

“It sounds to me like this comes from a place of very sincere love, though, and that sort of thing always shines through. And that’s reason enough to share, don’t you think?”

He felt troubled by that, somehow, that discomforting sense of loneliness and betrayal creeping up on him again. “...In theory, I’m sure.”

Ladiva rested her chin in her hand and looked at him knowingly. “It’s scary to broach, I'm sure. But think of it like you’re offering love to two people who deserve it.”

“What, you think Vane would need to witness this conversation, too?” Percival snapped, not helping the irritation in his voice.

“I’m talking about yourself,” she replied with a calm smile.

Percival opened his mouth but had nothing to say, struck by Ladiva’s conclusion. The only reply he could muster was taking the last bite of beef tongue and pepper left in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hell of a week and I think all of us are wishing we, too, could be at Raduga right about now. Hang in there, friends! Hope this little bit of LanPercy fat chewing helps a little!! Next part is on its way, just need to take a lil breather to get some gratification first. :P


	2. Chapter 2

Ladiva refused to let Percival help clean and close up. And, as the distance of the hallways, ceilings, floors, even his own height felt uneven and alien, Percival could see why. Embarrassing. He’d have to show his gratefulness appropriately later when he was sober.

He meandered through the Grandcypher, wondering where in the skies Lancelot had gotten to. His irritation was a helpful balm to lay over the concern that was gnawing at him with increasing aggression. Percival knew Lancelot would only betray small loyalties like this if there were an emergency or something far, far worse.

His feet took him to Lancelot’s door on instinct as he lost himself to the thoughts Ladiva stirred.

In that way, Lancelot was as much of a puppy as Vane. The way Percival could signal him to drop his guard when they sparred, the way he followed whatever word Feendrache gave him. What initiative he took was all very much sunlit, his intellect and drive just vanishing if he had to imagine and probe the hidden motives and systems that let rats like Isabella poison the well.

It really made him an exemplary knight. That trust, even through utter betrayal and upheaval, while Percival had met such with running away. But it was also that obedience, even in the face of an incompetent crown and an obvious need for change.

Perhaps that was what had shattered Percival’s world so thoroughly back then. Because while he was in the Order, didn’t he find himself willing to follow Siegfried into hell itself? Didn’t he find it only appropriate to lay down his life for the Feendrache Josef had curated? But to see his fellow vice-captain, his peer, the closest person he’d had to a friend resign himself to blind complacency when the system they served betrayed everything for just a few peoples’ selfishness…

Percival hadn’t felt sick like this since before the captain, Vyrn, and Lyria first restored his faith. When he held his balled fist to rap on Lancelot’s door, he saw it was shaking.

“Lancelot. Lancelot!” Percival’s knuckles gave a sensation he’d describe as a yelp, so startled by the excessive force that jolted through the rest of his body until he shuddered. He cursed as he withdrew his hand and shook it, as if that would actually abate the dull pain that lingered.

Didn’t Feendrache deserve better than that? Vane, even. Josef’s memory and legacy. Or Siegfried, even when they thought the worst of him.

Percival dimly ran through Ladiva’s parting words again. That wasn’t really what upset him, was it. Because even when the incident still felt like a hot knife through flesh, Percival knew there wasn’t a pair of hands more capable of recovering the order than Lancelot’s. And with his low opinion of Carl at the time, Percival really had seen it like he was entrusting an entire country he’d grown to consider home as much as (maybe more than) Wales to the only person left worth believing in.

So why hadn’t the sort of idealistic vision Percival lived by meant anything to Lancelot back then, in their shared darkest hour?

“ _ A knight’s only objective is to serve his country. Once he swears this oath, he need only follow the path before him. _ ” 

Lamorak had long disappeared by the time Percival began training with the order, and of course he had yet to convince Aglovale of the strength and value of his ideals back then. It was more or less only after he'd become vice-captain that he had started to feel confidence in them. Siegfried tempered them into something viable, Josef provided the model to strive for, and alongside Lancelot, Percival had his first glimpse of forging the future he desired and the skies deserved.

They had had to assume Siegfried's place in the chaos and ceremony of burying Josef. It was after they shared the weight of his coffin as pallbearers that Percival had confided in Lancelot and had his too-fragile vision shattered. But how could Lancelot have known? He, like Percival, had violently lost the people who'd shown him his path forward. And if Lancelot was at his best in sunlight, then sunlight should've been the least Percival could have offered, with the vision he'd built with their shared sweat and blood. 

But instead, he just left. 

Percival had been rapping on the door again, but gave up now as his hand sank with his heart.

“....Percival? Oh, no, have you been waiting here this whole time?”

It rose right back up, all the way to his throat when he finally heard Lancelot from down the hall, the rhythmic sound of armor clanking with him.

“No,” Percival snapped. “Of course I wasn’t waiting for you. I was on my way back from dinner and this was on the way.”

There was a little gasp. “My deepest apologies!”

Percival’s eyes fell downwards, to that silly, immature, oversized crown he thought completely inappropriate for the knight wearing it. “Please, the burden of this transgression is all mine!”

“Captain Charlotta,” Percival said tersely, but his chest released as the situation immediately became clear.

“The Holy Knights had an emergency... right after we finished sparring, as it turned out,” Lancelot said with a sheepish laugh.

“Please know Captain Lancelot’s assistance was graciously and fruitfully donated to a most urgent affair, Percival,” Charlotta provided, hustling down the hallway to address Percival more properly. “Because of his swift assistance, many families will be sleeping much easier tonight!”

“I’m sure you only asked because you found it necessary. It’s unlike the Holy Knights to be frivolous,” he said coolly. It was difficult to be irritated with her. Her headwear might have been childish, but Percival found her judgement, leadership, and noble spirit sound. “But you couldn’t have told me?” he directed at Lancelot.

Lancelot sighed apologetically. “I asked a crewmate to carry the message. I’m sorry it didn’t get to you, I really should have made the time to tell you myself.”

“Who,” Percival asked slowly. “did you have carry the message?” He already knew he wouldn’t like the answer as Lancelot laughed sheepishly.

“That would be Yaia,” he said, already expecting Percival’s sour reply.

“She was present when I requested Lancelot’s help!” Charlotta interjected, clearly defending him. “And offered when Lancelot expressed -- “

“No need to explain further,” Percival interrupted. He gave Lancelot a look. Once again, that was all it took for the situation to become clear. The little Draph girl was passing by and offered to help. Lancelot took her up on her kindness, and between her being at that age where it was important to be “big” and the urgency of the moment, he couldn’t just waste time and insult Yaia by finding someone else who wasn’t a literal child to do it. 

He sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead.

“Ahaha...again, I’m sorry she never got it to you.”

“No matter. Thank you for your time, Charlotta, but I have something very important to discuss with Lancelot.”

Lancelot and Charlotta exchanged a glance.

“Y-yes. Of course,” she said. “Again, Lancelot, your assistance was deeply appreciated. Rest well tonight.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Lancelot replied warmly. “I hope you rest well, too. You’ve certainly earned it.” As Charlotta walked off to her quarters, she glanced back once or twice. Percival just scowled back, feeling his brows knit as he impatiently waited for some privacy. She eventually got the picture and scurried off.

“Percival,” Lancelot said, concerned. “What do you need to talk about?”

Apprehension bit at Percival’s words and thoughts, and he hesitated. But he thought of Ladiva’s encouragement and perspective. Of it being a means to “offer love.”

“...This is not a quick subject we can get through outside your door when you’re due to rest.”

“No, it sounds important. I definitely have the time and energy for this. I did stand you up, after all. But, Percival, you know…”

“What.”

“Are you sure _you_ can handle it?” Lancelot grinned at him with the same sort of look he gave when he had a bucket full of crabs.

“ _What_ ,” Percival growled. “Are you _talking_ about, you incessant cur?”

“It’s just been a while since I’ve seen your drunk flush.”

Percival didn’t know what else to do but pause in humiliation and cover his face,. But the same moment his palm hit his face with a soft slap, he knew it was pointless and removed it. He felt every part of his face start to burn once more, then it burned even more furiously as it dawned on him he more or less just slapped himself entirely because his own inebriation outwitted him.

“Is that such a crime? I was at Raduga. Ladiva has new drinks. But maybe a tasteless sweet tooth like you has yet to learn how to appreciate their sophistication.”

Lancelot laughed, exasperatingly satisfied, and he unlocked his room. “Honestly, it’s a little nostalgic. I don’t think I’ve seen you comfortable enough to drink anything but a glass of wine since we were vice-captains.”

Percival’s gut gnawed at itself again, but now out of anticipation rather than fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, friends! I was on call wait for so many goddamn hours today, but it did mean I got to work on this! I'm honestly a liiiiiittle overwhelmed bc uh, everyone sure is really nice and leaving really generous comments that have me a big pile of goo!!! So thank you!!! And sorry if I take forever to get back to you bc I kinda just stare at the nice words in my inbox and get embarrassed haha!!!! But I treasure your feedback, kind words, and that I could entertain you a little bit :) 
> 
> One last chapter to this one should do it. I super wasn't expecting this to get this long or even be multi-chapter at all, but there really is quite a bit to chew on with them. (And also I care them.)


	3. Chapter 3

With tonight coinciding with shore leave, many of the larger rooms were free. Percival gritted his teeth both in irritation and to stop his bemused smile at how Lancelot had already managed to ruin his.

Lancelot had requested Percival let him wash up a little before they talked, which seemed reasonable until he realized just how ridiculous it was to try and sit in this archaeological dig of a room. He’d given up trying to find a chair. The first promising lump turned out to be a picnic basket overflowing with candy wrappers, empty macaron boxes, and, inexplicably, a stuffed chicken, piled on top of books and a wayward baking pan. They toppled immediately after Percival pulled the clothes thrown on them off.

He angrily reshuffled the books to keep their spines and pages intact before trying to decide this was Lancelot’s problem. But he just as quickly realized it was hopeless to leave it to him-- it’d just become Vane’s problem, at that point. Or whatever too-kind soul on crew who got suckered into cleaning for him. Before he knew it, Percival was reorganizing everything while he thought bitterly that of everything Siegfried imparted to them about knighthood, it never got through Lancelot’s skull that basic upkeep was _not optional._

He had an armful of dog-eared textbooks he was sorting when Lancelot came back, looking refreshed and comfortable. And, thankfully, embarrassed.

“Ah, Percival, I’m sorry to trouble you with that -- please. Take a seat,” he said as he took the books from Percival’s arms and placed them in a neat enough pile elsewhere.

_“Where?”_

Lancelot threw the clothes strewn on his bed to the floor, took a seat, and looked up at Percival as if this were behavior becoming of a knight captain. Percival massaged his temples before relenting.

Lancelot laughed a bit. “I never did have your diligence for maintaining spaces.”

Percival crossed his arms. “...At least you make a mess of your books because you read them,” he conceded. “Whatever. We have other matters to attend to.”

“Yes. Percival...is this related to what you brought up earlier?”

“...About how things are different. Between now and when we were in the Order?”

“Yes. That.”

Percival nearly harumphed. Was it related to that. Hilarious. “It is.”

Lancelot breathed a sigh of what sounded like relief. “I’m sort of glad, frankly. I’ve….been thinking about it myself.”

“Ah...right. The answer I asked for since we sparred.”

He murmured in agreement. “Well, that and...other related things. But please, you go first with what you wanted to say.”

The whole afternoon and evening ran through Percival’s head. His chest tightened with nervousness, melancholy, a twinge of anger, but also an almost pleasant feeling of urgency. Though it sounded corny when it didn’t come from Ladiva, Percival did think to himself this was a chance to show love that the two of them did, indeed, deserve.

“...I simply want to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Lancelot looked at him, truly surprised. “Since when do you apologize?” Percival glared at him before Lancelot smiled back. “Kidding. But I also don’t know what in the skies you could be apologizing for.”

Percival braced himself, scooting so his back rested against the wall. “...For leaving.”

“...No, Percival. You really don’t have to apologize for that. You did what you had to in a terrible time.”

“Perhaps. But I also abandoned my comrade during a violent time of change and loss. I burdened him with responsibility I chose to cast off. No matter how capable he was of handling it, or how much better things are now...I still owe you an apology for such a transgression, Lancelot. I should have done much better by you.”

Percival couldn’t bring himself to look at Lancelot in the silence that followed. His eyes stung. It was only because of the mattress shifting underneath them that Percival knew he was moving closer, until they were sitting parallel, backs against the wall, staring ahead.

“...You’re much too kind to offer me that,” Lancelot said quietly.

“Nonsense. No matter where you stand on the matter, the fact is that instead of weathering that time with you and the rest of Feendrache, I ran away. And I can’t say I’m proud of that decision, however indelible it may be.”

“...It’s funny you bring that up, because I’d been thinking about that time, myself.”

His breath quickened, surprised, but also feeling mixed emotions the incident still possessed Lancelot as well.

“Honestly, it hadn’t really occurred to me to think about it until after we met everyone on the Grandcypher. I wish I could say I was lost in work, but...really, I was just making excuses not to open my eyes. It was...easier, in the aftermath of that whole thing, to just be so angry with Siegfried that I’d do or follow anything that let me believe this was the only time I’d deal with pain like that.”

“...I had heard from Vane how tough you took any mention of him up until you revealed Isabella’s true colors.”

“Yeah. I’m…” Lancelot sighed. “...not the proudest of it. Because it was more about keeping my world simple. I chose knighthood for a really simple reason--”

“Which was?”

“Oh. I never told you? Well...Vane lost his parents early on to a monster attack. I just didn’t want anyone to go through something like that if I could do something about it.”

“...You two really have been joined at the hip your whole lives,” Percival muttered, though there was new context to them he better appreciated now. “But I see your point.”

“Yeah. I...wasn’t ready for doing good to be complicated. It's...easier to just care about the people around you and doing what you're told. But you reacted to your world falling apart by declaring you needed to learn more, forge this incredible vision you wouldn’t compromise for anything. And you believed in it so much you just set off without so much as a crew or a king’s blessing…”

“Oh,” Percival said, finding odd clarity despite the lingering alcohol, the conversation, and it getting late. “That’s actually a good idea. A national endowment or program of some kind for public servants to travel and learn from other countries. I’ll have to establish that in my kingdom. But I digress. Go on.”

Lancelot didn’t reply, at first, and Percival heard his hair rustle against the wall behind them. He turned to look at him out of curiosity, and quickly turned away in embarrassment when he saw how fondly Lancelot was smiling at him.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re very good at seeing the best possible way something could go, and you don’t see the point in not pursuing it wholeheartedly.”

Percival wasn’t sure how to react. Of course his ideals were worth pursuing, but when Lancelot put it like that, it made them seem more virtuous than he thought they really were. This is just what people ought to do, wasn't it? 

“...do you remember what I said after Josef’s funeral?”

He almost laughed. “...Remind me. We’ve said many things since then.”

“...” Lancelot wrung his hands, staring at his feet. “ _A knight’s only objective is to serve his country. Once he swears this oath, he need only follow the path before him_.” He let it hang in the air for a moment before he continued. “Ever since you helped rescue me...I’ve wanted to take those words back. While sometimes I had wished you’d stayed behind in Feendrache, to the point where I’ll admit I was sometimes angry with you, I couldn’t have expected you to after I said that. Not when it contradicts the knight you are and I should’ve been more like. I can’t imagine thinking of you leaving the order like you abandoning me, because I was pushing you away. If you need to apologize for leaving...then I need to apologize for making you go.”

This was hardly out of character for Lancelot, but Percival was stunned. All this time, they’d both ached and been through the same storm tossing them about. And without ever talking about it before, after rescuing one another countless times, they had both decided they owed one another something better. There was something very profound in that, Percival thought, and very much salient to Ladiva's insistence on the power of love. 

Lancelot sighed and sank down further into the bed.

“...Lancelot, get up.”

“Hm?” Without question, he did. “Do you need something?”

Percival couldn’t believe he was doing this, but it only seemed appropriate. He shifted himself a bit and wrapped his arms around Lancelot, pulling him into a tight hug.

Lancelot seemed just as surprised but twice as delighted. So delighted, in fact, that after some time hugging, he leaned all the way back so they would sink into the bed together. Percival reacted so stiffly and awkwardly that he bumped his head against the wall with a fair amount of force while Lancelot clung to him like a baby.

“ _Ow!_ Lancelot! You- you useless _puppy_ of a -”

Lancelot burst out laughing before Percival could finish his insult. He let go, apologizing and uprighting himself while Percival rubbed his head sourly.

“Good talk,” he offered, patting Percival on the shoulder. Percival just grunted.

“...I’m still curious, though. About your answer to my question earlier.”

“Oh! That’s right!”

“So? What’s so different between now and when we were green, other than the obvious?”

“I mean, we're clearly more skilled than before. But I think our sparring feels different because we know ourselves better, beyond just using different weapons. Back then our priorities mirrored each other. Mistakes were because of gaps in our techniques we were learning from Siegfried, you know? Now it’s more about you versus me. Getting an edge on you is much more fun.”

“Hmph. As if you ever could,” Percival said with a grin.

“We did end in a draw.”

“Tomorrow, then. Provided there are no emergencies or miscommunications.”

“Absolutely.” Lancelot grinned eagerly at him, and Percival felt an infectious warmth and welcome sense of ease flow through him.

*******************************

Percival was not about to weather a night in Lancelot’s room, so when they were too tired to go on, he headed back to his room. The hallways of the Grandcypher’s berthing were unusually quiet, so the silhouetted figure near Percival’s door and the chaotic mess of paper surrounding came as a surprise.

Percival picked one that fluttered near his feet up. It was a crayon drawing. It turned out, as he took a better look at the rest of the papers, that they were all crayon drawings.

“....Well. I suppose I misjudged your decision to trust our little crewmate, Lancelot,” Percival mumbled to himself, holding back a gentle laugh.

Yaia had made her own little pile of blankets and pillows outside of Percival’s room. Most of them were charming drawings of Lancelot and Charlotta with their weapons at the ready, a couple others of meals and utensils crossed out in red. Her letters were as wildly misshapen as any six-year-old’s would be, but it was clear Yaia had done her absolute due diligence with the task “Lanceylotta” had given her.

Percival gathered the drawings tacked to the walls, strewn across the hallway, and slipped in between the cracks of his door. Yaia stirred as she heard the papers shuffle.

“Oh...Sir Burnsalot…I have a message…um...” She blearily sat up from her blanket pile, disoriented.

“Yes. I heard. Lancelot and Charlotta went on a mission, right? So we couldn’t have dinner together.” Percival pointed to the corresponding drawings as he spoke.

“Uh-huh....”

“You did a very thorough job,” Percival answered, kneeling at her level. “You took your task very seriously, didn’t you?”

“Uh huh…I was worried...because after they left I couldn’t find you...but I thought if I waited here...” She yawned. Obviously this child needed to be in a proper bed, and while Percival had some words to have with the captain about how nobody got her there sooner, that was not the most pressing issue of the moment.

“That’s a good thought. You did well to see this through to the end. That’s very grown-up of you.”

She smiled. “Hehe! Yaia did well!”

“She did.”

“You know what? Lancelottey and Charlottey…they told me this was an important mission between important knights...and if I helped...then I’d be a knight-in-training. So I’m a knight now!”

She raised her arms up in enthusiasm. Percival took the chance to scoop her up, blankets and all, and start escorting her to the captain’s quarters where he recalled she often slept.

“A knight-in-training. It takes a lot of hard work and study to reach knighthood.”

“Hmm….could I do that?”

“If that’s what you wanted, certainly.”

“You know a lot about knights, Sir Burnsalot…” Percival wondered if Vyrn was entirely to blame for that nickname sticking with the child, or if the captain and Lyria had encouraged it, too. “...Do you think I’d make a good one?”

“That depends,” Percival replied. “Do you want to take the care you feel for your loved ones and work very hard to stretch it so far and wide so everyone feels safe and cared for?”

“Mmmm…...mmhmmm…” Yaia sleepily nodded into his shoulder.

“Would it make you happy to work hard every day for that reason?”

“Mhmm…...I could make fried rice…” she murmured. “For everybody I meet...”

“Then I think you’d grow into a fine knight,” Percival said as he stepped out onto the deck, the cool night breeze gentle against them.

He thought again about Ladiva’s words, of how if it came from a place of love, that would shine through above all. He thought to himself that the hard work of statecraft and knighthood worked much the same, and that he must’ve truly ridden blessed winds to find a comrade like Lancelot, who could remind him of that whenever and wherever their paths crossed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....And there we go, all done! I don't care how basic I am for it, I'm simple asshole who loves it when Percy is his sweetest, most serious self with kiddos. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with the fic! Again, really went longer than I expected, but it was nice to chew on what I doubt canon's ever gonna address and give myself the gratuitous "ladiva's power of love solves everything" shilling we DESERVE.


End file.
